l so soft and delicate that her mother's kiss made a
momentary red mark upon it. Her nose was somewhat too thick, but it
harmonized well with the vermilion mouth, whose lips, creased in many
lines, were full of love and kindness. The throat was exquisitely round.
The bust, well curved and carefully covered, attracted the eye and
inspired reverie. It lacked, no doubt, the grace which a fitting dress
can bestow; but to a connoisseur the non-flexibility of her figure
had its own charm. Eugenie, tall and strongly made, had none of the
prettiness which pleases the masses; but she was beautiful with a beauty
which the spirit recognizes, and none but artists truly love. A painter
seeking here below for a type of Mary's celestial purity, searching
womankind for those proud modest eyes which Raphael divined, for those
virgin lines, often due to chances of conception, which the modesty of
Christian life alone can bestow or keep unchanged,--such a painter, in
love with his ideal, would have found in the face of Eugenie the innate
nobleness that is ignorant of itself; he would have seen beneath the
calmness of that brow a world of love; he would have felt, in the shape
of the eyes, in the fall of the eyelids, the presence of the nameless
something that we call divine. Her features, the contour of her head,
which no expression of pleasure had ever altered or wearied, were like
the lines of the horizon softly traced in the far distance across the
tranquil lakes. That calm and rosy countenance, margined with light like
a lovely full-blown flower, rested the mind, held the eye, and imparted
the charm of the conscience that was there reflected. Eugenie was
standing on the shore of life where young illusions flower, where
daisies are gathered with delights ere long to be unknown; and thus she
said, looking at her image in the glass, unconscious as yet of love: "I
am too ugly; he will not notice me."

Then she opened the door of her chamber which led to the staircase, and
stretched out her neck to listen for the household noises. "He is not
up," she thought, hearing Nanon's morning cough as the good soul went
and came, sweeping out the halls, lighting her fire, chaining the dog,
and speaking to the beasts in the stable. Eugenie at once went down and
ran to Nanon, who was milking the cow.

"Nanon, my good Nanon, make a little cream for my cousin's breakfast."

"Why, mademoiselle, you should have thought of that yesterday," said
Nanon, bu